


Tangled Webs

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Hogwarts Era, Post-War, Romance, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-05
Updated: 2009-02-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 18:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Everyone knows Lavender Brown. Or at least, they think they do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Tangled Webs  
  
 _Oh, what a tangled web we weave_ _  
  
 _When first we practice to deceive!_  
  
 _~ Sir Walter Scott__  
  
The fact that Hermione Granger fancied Ron Weasley was the second worst kept secret at Hogwarts, the first, of course, being that Ron fancied Hermione as well. And what was never a secret at all was the fact that both of them were completely oblivious to all of it.  
  
It used to be cute, watching them stumble around each other, never quite able to figure it out, watching them try to balance being completely gone over the other with being best friends with the boy who would probably end up saving the wizarding world. And the rest of us just watched and waited, and quietly placed our bets in the pool started by the twins as to when and under what circumstances the eventual realization would happen.  
  
Yes, it _used_ to be cute, but after the Yule Ball had come and gone and was long in the past, and all that delicious potential had just been _squandered_ , it stopped being cute. And by the time we’d gotten to the halfway point of our fifth year, the unresolved tension had just gotten annoying.  
  
And yes, I know that at that point, there were far more important things to deal with than the love lives of my dormmate and a guy I’d hardly spared two thoughts for before, but what very few people realize is that that _is_ how I dealt with the war and the growing darkness. I know I get called shallow for it, but people are my thing. I _get_ them. I understand how they work and relate and interact. It’s why my best subject was Divination. Everyone called Professor Trelawney an old fraud, and yes, maybe predicting Harry’s death every time she saw him got to be a little much, but what almost everyone fails to get is that the secret of Divination isn’t actually being able to see the future. It’s being able to read people. You think that even someone with a powerful gift of Sight would have needed a crystal ball to tell them that Neville Longbottom was going to break something at some point in a class, especially when we were working with china? No. They only needed to know _Neville_. Don’t get me wrong; I have all the respect in the world for Neville and the leader he became. But _everyone_ , including Neville, will agree with me when I say that the hardened young man leading the student charge against Voldemort our seventh year was _not_ the same awkward thirteen-year-old breaking china in Professor Trelawney’s tower.  
  
I’ve gotten off message. But the point is, Divination is 10% accurate prediction, 5% lucky guesswork, 15% appearance and delivery, and 70% being able to read your audience. Which is why I was so good at it and Hermione Granger was so abysmal. She expected it to follow a predictable, workable pattern, and that’s not what Divination is at all. She thought about it both too much and not enough r1; too much to be taken in by it, but not enough to make the leap to understanding how it really worked. It’s funny some of the peculiar blind spots some people have. Hermione, for instance, generally understood people very well, but she was so affronted by the view of Divination as fake that she couldn’t take the next step and realize that being fake is part of what made it real for so many people. People see and hear what they want to see and hear, or what they _expect_ to see and hear.  
  
Which is why Hermione and Ron were never going to get it together on their own, a fact that became obvious halfway through our fifth year. They were going to need a little push. It became more imperative after the events at the Ministry and the Minister’s resignation as it became clear that Lord Voldemort had, in fact, been back among us for a year. Because Harry was going to have to face him eventually, prophesy to that effect or not, and he was going to need Ron and Hermione by his side to do it, and they couldn’t help him and focus on the _thing_ between them at the same time. And can I just roll my eyes for a moment over the lengths people will go to in order to pretend that the world they’ve always known is not, in fact, crashing down around their ears? I mean, come on. Anyone who knew Harry Potter at all knew that the last thing the poor boy wanted was _more_ attention. Also, Harry couldn’t have kept up a lie about Voldemort for so long. He’s always been a pretty awful liar.  
  
Everyone fought in the war or joined the DA for different reasons, and I knew a lot of people were surprised to see me there. Because I was Lavender Brown, and all I cared about was boys and gossip and the newest relationship news. Except, that wasn’t me at all. That was always an act, albeit one I employed well.  
  
I joined the DA and fought in the war because of people. The war, the Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort, they kept people from being able to live without fear and being able to be happy about normal things. Reading people is what I do; it’s what I’m good at, and the war made that impossible. Everyone was afraid, constantly. No one was acting like themselves or trusting connections with other people, and that was _wrong_ , and I needed to fix it. That’s what I tried to do. That’s all I was ever trying to do.  
  
I never intended to spend six months as Ron Weasley’s girlfriend. _That_ particular situation was born out of unexpected circumstance and me not being quite as quick a thinker as I liked to believe back then.  
  
My _intention_ , as our sixth year began, was to do a little gentle nudging. I giggled, I flirted, I was coy and alluring as only I could be, all to set myself up as the girl in the sidelines ready and willing to snatch Ron up if someone didn’t do something about it soon enough, the someone, of course, being Hermione. The whole thing was geared toward making Hermione jealous enough to make a move of her own.  
  
In the beginning, Parvati was the only one who knew what I was doing, and she didn’t like it. “This is going to backfire!” she whispered to me as we walked out of the castle one weekend early in the year.  
  
“Will you calm down?” I said, carefully judging the wind as we moved across the grounds. “I know exactly what I’m doing. Harry has Quidditch tryouts today, and I am going to watch and cheer on the latest object of my affections.” I reached up as I said it and pulled my hair free of its tie. With a gentle shake or two, I let the playful breeze catch it and tousle it briefly before it settled, alluringly windswept, against my shoulders. Moving my head from side to side, I smiled in satisfaction as the sun caught my natural gold highlights and made them shimmer. “Perfect,” I said glancing proudly at Parvati. She glared at me.  
  
“This isn’t going to work,” she hissed as we made our way to the pitch.  
  
“Yes, it is,” I told her calmly.  
  
“Why are you doing this, Lavender? Just answer that, okay? Why this and why now?” Her eyes were dark and vaguely accusing, and I could see the strain in them, a strain I knew would be likewise reflected in mine whenever I dropped my mask.  
  
I sighed and closed my eyes, wishing with all my heart that I wasn’t living in that time. “Because I can’t do anything about You-Know-Who or the Ministry or your parents, Parvati,” I said softly. “And I hate being helpless. But I can do something about this. I can help make this one thing right; I _know_ I can. And I have to do _something_ or I’m going to go completely crazy!” And with that, I grabbed her hands, willing her to look at me and understand. When she finally met my eyes again, I knew I had her, at least a little. She was still reluctant, and she didn’t really want me to go through with any of it, but she understood, at least, why I needed to.  
  
She didn’t say anything for a long time, but she finally sighed, squeezed my hands, and said, “Well, if you must, then get ready, because here comes your boyfriend.” And she nudged me and look pointedly over my shoulder. When I turned, there was Ron, and I gave him my biggest, most flirtatious smile. Ron smiled back after a moment, and proceeded to swagger the rest of the way to the stadium, looking quite proud of himself. Hermione, on the other hand, looked decidedly frosty and distant.  
  
Once they were out of earshot, and Ron had stopped looking back over his shoulder, I turned sharply back to Parvati and said, “Not boyfriend. This is harmless, simple flirtation, nothing more.”  
  
“I hope you’re right,” she warned, turning and walking away toward the pitch. After giving her a look that she didn’t see, I ran to catch up.  
  
“I _am_ right,” I said, coming up beside her. “ _Trust_ me.”  
  
“I do, Lav,” she said. “But I also know that should Ron suddenly decide that he _does_ want a relationship with you, after weeks of pretending like that’s what _you_ want, you aren’t exactly going to be able to say no.”  
  
I brushed away her concern with a sweep of my hand, dismissing it from my mind at the same time. “This is never going to get that far,” I told her. “I know Hermione, and she’s going to make her move long before then. Besides. Ron would never initiate anything.”  
  
Everything continued to progress beautifully in the following weeks r1; I continued to flirt shamelessly, Ron continued to respond, Hermione continued to be in no way okay with it. I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I watched all this unfold; moreso when I overheard Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones talking one day about how Hermione had asked Ron during Herbology to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with her. Yes, I was quite pleased with myself. But then something happened. To this day, I’m not sure what. All I know is that after the second Quidditch game into the season, something went horribly, _horribly_ wrong. We won, rather spectacularly, and, being Gryffindors, we were celebrating. Then Ron came in, shoved me into a wall, and started kissing me.  
  
Well, no, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t so much kiss me as attack me with his face. In the kindest terms possible, his technique was far from refined. I was stunned, to say the very least, so much so, in fact, that it took me a moment to fully comprehend what was happening. Being shoved into a wall and kissed by Ron Weasley was never on my list of Things Expected to Happen to Me While at Hogwarts.  
  
See, here’s the thing about Ron. He has issues with initiative. Maybe it comes from having all those older brothers or from being friends with The Boy Who Lived and Hogwarts’ Biggest Know-It-All, but whatever the reason for it, Ron doesn’t take the initiative. He doesn’t. He’s content to just coast through life and let things happen to him. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people aren’t initiative takers, which is as it should be. But that’s why all my efforts were focused toward getting Hermione to act, and why I never took Parvati’s concern seriously. It was never going to happen.  
  
Except that it did. And, just as Parvati had said, as I’d been giving Ron unmistakable signals all year, I couldn’t exactly push him away and ask what the hell he was doing, much as I wanted to. After all, he had no way of knowing that he was completely destroying all my carefully laid plans.  
  
Though I will never tell Ron this – I’m a lot of things, but cruel isn’t one of them – I wasn’t really paying attention to him or anything we were doing during that first afternoon. I was too busy trying desperately to think of a way out – _any_ way out.  
  
Desperate thinking – as opposed to careful, deliberate thinking, which was what I _should_ have been engaging in – led to my first major stumble. In my panicked state, I thought dropping the G-word would scare him into backing out of everything that had just happened. I misjudged the situation. Far from shrinking away from the term “girlfriend,” he glared darkly at something I’m pretty sure only he could see, and all but snarled an affirmative reply.  
  
My second stumble came from even more desperate thinking, because while kissing the guy was not what I wanted to end up doing, being his girlfriend was _absolutely_ not what I wanted to end up doing. So I told him that since we were “a couple” now, we should find someplace “more private” in which we could “celebrate” our “new status,” hoping that would scare him away.  
  
No such luck. Not only did he agree, but the classroom he pulled me into was already in use – by Hermione Granger, no less, and she wasn’t at all happy to see us. In fact, it was shortly after our encounter that she attacked Ron with a flock of conjured canaries.  
  
All in all, not how you want your set-up attempts to end.  
  
Parvati was waiting for me in the dorm when I managed to extricate myself from Ron. Luckily Hermione wasn’t there, else I probably would have ended up spilling the whole thing and begging her to take him back. Quite possibly on my knees.  
  
But it was only Parvati, sprawled across my bed, flipping casually through the latest _Witch Weekly_. She didn’t even look up as I entered. “No, it’ll _never_ get that far,” she drawled. I glared at her. “Ron would _never_ take the initiative.”  
  
“Shut up,” I warned.  
  
“What happened?” she asked, lowering the magazine.  
  
“Damned if I know!” I shouted, kicking at my bedpost angrily. “One minute I’m talking to you and Dean, and the next, he’s got me pinned against a wall! And now I’m his girlfriend, and I don’t even know how it happened!”  
  
“His _girlfriend_?” she repeated, sitting straight up and staring at me. “Lavender!”  
  
“I know, I know,” I said, agitated, sinking down on the floor by my bed, taking a couple deep breaths. “Okay. I need to work this out,” I said, more to myself than to her.  
  
“Yes, you do,” she said, sliding off the bed beside me. “And fast. Does Hermione know?” Reluctantly, feeling incredibly stupid, I explained about the canaries. Parvati sighed deeply at that. “Great,” she said. “Attacking him with canaries, declaring her undying love, they’re only a step apart, really.”  
  
I was halfway into glaring fiercely at her when I was struck with a realization, “Well, maybe,” I said, my mind whirling. Parvati looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “No, no,” I insisted, my brain working overtime. “Hear me out.”  
  
“I hate it when you say that,” Parvati muttered, but I ignored her.  
  
“It’s jealousy, right? That prompted the canary attack? Hermione’s jealous?”  
  
“And then some, sounds like.” I ignored her snarky comment and focused on the fact that she had, essentially, agreed with me.  
  
“Well, that’s what we want, isn’t it? We want Hermione to be jealous. That’s been our goal the whole time, yes?” Parvati leaned away from me, holding her hands up in the air.  
  
“We? Our? Don’t you dare include me in this!” I rolled my eyes.  
  
“Just answer the question, Parvati.” She sighed.  
  
“Yes, Lavender. _Your_ plan was to get Hermione jealous enough to make her move.”  
  
“Well then, this is okay! She’s still jealous, and that’s a good sign!” I stood, full of energy again. I paced the length of the bed a couple times, thinking quickly.  
  
“Except, Lav,” Parvati said, struggling to her feet, “that Ron made a move first. He’s got a girlfriend, as I hope I don’t need to remind you.”  
  
“Well then, I’ll just have to get him to break up with me, won’t I?” I said reasonably. Despite Parvati’s worries, my plan was suddenly looking not quite as trampled as before. “This thing’ll last a week, maybe two at the very most. Then he’ll break up with me, I’ll sulk, give it a couple more weeks for tempers to cool, and then Ron, having realized that this isn’t what he wants, will swing straight back to Hermione, who will snatch him up to keep it from happening again! They’ll be together by the start of next term!” I expected her to be happy about that, but she merely gave me a look that proved she was far from convinced, and picked up the discarded _Witch Weekly_. I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Parvati!” I said, snatching the magazine from her, irritated that she wasn’t as thrilled with the new plan as I was.  
  
“How are you going to get him to break up with you?” she demanded. “Your time frame seems rather dependent on that.”  
  
“Easy,” I said, almost laughing. “I’m about to become the world’s most annoying girlfriend. He’ll be willing to do anything to get away from me by the end of the week!” And with a smile to her, I turned and all but skipped from the room, completely ignoring the sounds of protest that followed me.  
  
To this day, I wish I’d gone back in and listened to what Parvati had to say. It might have kept me from ruining things as badly as I did. Actually, listening to Parvati at any point in the early stages might have spared everyone from what was to come. See, I underestimated the stubbornness of Ron Weasley. Whatever Hermione had said or done, or whatever he _thought_ she had said or done, had enraged him to a state of obstinance I had never seen from him before, nor ever imagined I would. In any other situation, I would have taken this as a Very Encouraging Sign. However, the timing and circumstances of this sudden display of tenacity were nothing more than frustrating and _highly_ inconvenient.  
  
And, though he slowly started to respond as desired to my clingy-ness and enthusiastic affection by showing clear signs that he wanted to, at times, _not_ be constantly in my presence – signs that I, of course, “ignored” – the burst of initiative that had started the relationship was, regrettably, nowhere to be found. No, after claiming me as his girlfriend, he reverted back into the Ron Weasley we all knew and loved – indecisive, non-confrontational, and perfectly willing to let the world happen to him.  
  
Slowly the week turned into two, then a month, and then the last day of school before the Christmas holidays was upon us, and Ron and I, despite all my hard work, were still together.  
  
Another thing I underestimated? Hermione’s pride, and how much Ron’s actions – and yes, my actions, too – had hurt her. It wasn’t that I had been unaware of it; as a matter of fact, I had been all too aware of it. I hadn’t been able to sleep well since halfway through November, when I woke one night to hear Hermione sobbing into her pillow. It was complete chance that I caught her at it; she was very careful not to give any hint or sign of it otherwise, unless she was sure that Parvati and I were sound asleep. So, after that night, I made sure she thought I was, so that I would be awake to hear her cry herself to sleep.  
  
Why? Because I’m apparently highly masochistic.  
  
Many people seemed, at the time, to be under the impression that Hermione Granger and I hated each other through our first five years of school. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. In all honesty, we had no real opinion of each other. Oh, we had our occasional differences to be sure, but there were also those nights when she and I and Parvati did the whole giggling girl bit, mainly over Professor Lockhart in second year, but also surrounding her romance with Viktor Krum in fourth. Most often, however, we didn’t really cross paths. By the time our sixth year rolled around, we were taking completely different classes and hardly saw one another, even before the Ron debacle. Actually, I think you’d be surprised how often you can _not_ see someone you share a dorm with.  
  
But no, far from disliking Hermione, I had all the respect in the world for her. When you’re in love with your best friend, and he’s flaunting his relationship with your dormmate in your face every chance he gets, it takes a certain kind of personal strength to keep from breaking down. The fact that the only times she allowed herself to were late at night when she thought no one could overhear her? Extremely telling.  
  
It also made me feel like the lowest person on earth.  
  
Every night that I lay in bed listening to Hermione cry quietly away until she fell into a restless sleep, I resolved all the more strongly to end things with Ron as soon as possible. I even had a plan formulated, and was preparing to put it in place, when Hermione did the unthinkable.  
  
She asked Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn’s Christmas Party. _Cormac McLaggen_. I was so furious when I found out that I could have screamed, and if we hadn’t been at breakfast in the middle of the Great Hall, and if I hadn’t had an image to maintain, I probably would have.  
  
Cormac McLaggen. If you had asked me to find you the guy in Hogwarts not from Slytherin House who was the absolute worst match for Hermione Granger — well, it probably would have been Harry, but Cormac McLaggen would have been a very strong and close second! He was the most arrogant, pompous, snivelling wretch of a boy to ever befoul the House of Gryffindor. I’d be lying if I said that he wasn’t also one of the handsomest boys in the entire school, but his personality made that completely irrelevant.  
  
Cormac McLaggen. I could have torn my hair out.  
  
“What was she _thinking_?!” I screeched as soon as Parvati and I made it back to the privacy of our dorm. I immediately started wrecking the place in my anger – believe it or not, I have quite a bit of a temper when I get going. I yelled incoherently and wrenched all the covers from my bed and pushed over my nightstand and then kicked the bedpost as hard as I could. Twice. Then I sat on the edge of the bare mattress to nurse my foot, breathing hard, my whole body tense.  
  
Parvati, who had watched all this with a calm composure, looked at me then and said, “Well, that helped.” I glared fiercely at her, but she remained unfazed. With a general incoherent growl of anger, I flopped back on the mattress, moaning pathetically.  
  
“How could Hermione _do_ this to me!” I yelled.  
  
“Hermione didn’t do anything to _you_ , Lav,” Parvati said in a tight voice. “If she did anything to anyone, it was Ron.”  
  
“Cormac McLaggen?” I asked. “ _McLaggen_? Could she have _picked_ anyone more likely to piss Ron off?” Sitting on the edge of her bed and not looking at me, Parvati responded.  
  
“Well, yes, she could have picked Draco Malfoy, but I have a feeling he’d have said no,” she said airily.  
  
“How can you make light of this?” I demanded, pushing myself up with my elbows. Parvati looked at me then, a level gaze that was also slightly accusatory.  
  
“Why shouldn’t Hermione find herself a date to the Christmas party? And why shouldn’t she use the same methods to pick the guy that Ron used in picking _his_ girlfriend?” she threw at me. “Ron _humiliated_ her, Lavender. Everyone knows she fancies him, and so going out with _you_ , of all people, is a deliberate slap in the face. He humiliated her, and you can’t just expect Hermione to take that lying down. You can’t expect her to not try and get some of her own back.” After a slight pause, she looked down and muttered, “And the old Lavender wouldn’t have made that mistake.”  
  
I sat bolt upright, staring at her, feeling as if I’d been slapped. “What –?” I started, but I didn’t get a chance to answer, because that was the moment the dorm door opened and Hermione stepped in.  
  
She froze in the doorway, taking in the mess I’d made of my corner with a single raised eyebrow. “What happened here?” she asked carefully.  
  
“Oh!” I said, pasting a winning smile on my face and thinking as fast as I could. “I – I thought I saw a mouse,” I finished. Hermione’s eyebrows raised a few inches.  
  
“A mouse?” she repeated, and it was fairly clear she didn’t believe me. I nodded and pulled out my wand to start repairing the damage.  
  
“I despise rodents,” I said, giving a theatrical shudder. Hermione made some sort of noncommital noise in the back of her throat as she crossed to her side of the room. “So,” I said once my bedcovers were back in their rightful place. “How’d you snag him?”  
  
It took Hermione a few moments to realize that I was talking to her. She half-turned from her kneeling position beside her bed. “Excuse me?” she asked.  
  
“McLaggen!” I said with a conspiratorial grin.  
  
“Oh,” she said, looking uncomfortable. She squirmed for a minute or two, not making eye contact. “Well, he – he approached me a few months ago, and I – needed a date, so –” I did not roll my eyes at this, but it took everything I’d learned about performance in my time at Hogwarts.  
  
“Mmm,” I said instead, flopping down on my bed. “I _envy_ you, Hermione. Cormac McLaggen has got to be one of the _finest_ males Hogwarts has to offer.” She glanced at me briefly then, her mouth tight, and I knew I’d succeeded in making her even more uncomfortable. “Not that Ronnie isn’t good looking,” I said pointedly. “But he’s not _hot_ hot. Cormac, on the other hand . . .” I trailed off suggestively and looked toward Parvati, who at this point looked almost as irritated with me as Hermione did.  
  
“Should you be talking like that?” Hermione asked stiffly. “You do have a boyfriend.” I laughed as though I found her incredibly naive.  
  
“Oh, Hermione,” I said, still giggling. I leaned forward across my bed and lowered my voice seductively. “Just because you own _one_ model of the broomstick doesn’t mean you can’t _admire_ the rest.” And when she looked at me, mildly disgusted, I merely raised my eyebrows and smiled. Eventually, she cleared her throat and stood.  
  
“I have to go to class,” she said tightly, swinging her bag over her shoulder.  
  
“Let us know _all_ the details!” I called after her as she all but fled the room. The moment she was out of sight, I sank back down on the bed, all my faked energy sliding away. “How did this go so _wrong_?” I whimpered, covering my face with my hands and clutching at my hair, trying to ignore the burning behind my eyes.  
  
“You really don’t get it, do you?” was Parvati’s harsh reply. Somewhat taken aback by her tone, I peered at her from behind my hands. She was glaring at me with a mixture of exasperation and disgust. “This ‘went so wrong’ because you made an amateur mistake, Lavender.” I stared at her. “You expected Ron and Hermione to follow a predictable, workable pattern,” she spat, and in one fluid motion, she had swung her bag up onto her shoulder and stalked out the door.  
  
I sat on my bed, stunned. That had been a slap in the face, in more ways than one. Firstly, I knew I had to have royally screwed up for Parvati to be _that_ angry with me. And secondly, she was right. That realization stunned me more than her behavior.  
  
I had forgotten the two most important rules of Divination. One, people are unpredictable. And two, the fact that people often act in ways that can be predicted does not change rule number one.  
  
The very night that Ron and I started going out, I should have ditched everything about my previous plan and started formulating a completely new strategy. But I hadn’t. Instead, I had carried on as if Ron was still single.  So by the time the aftermath of that unpredictable action had subsided, and Ron and Hermione had returned to their usual ways, I was lagging so far behind that I was caught completely off guard every time one of them acted in a way that should have been predictable.  
  
An amateur mistake indeed. And one that had had disastrous consequences.  
  
It was the end of the day before I could bring myself to face Parvati. I found her in the darkened common room, sitting in front of a dying fire, on a couch normally occupied by the trio. We were alone; everyone else was either already in bed or at Slughorn’s party or shirking curfew elsewhere. I approached the fire hesitantly, the dismay and anguish I’d been feeling all day almost at overwhelming. I took a seat next to her and mimicked her position — leaning back into the cushions, arms crossed, feet braced against the edge of the table in front of us. We were both silent for a long while, neither of us wanting to be the first to break the silence. In the end, though, I spoke, because in the scheme of things, it was my turn and I knew it.  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” I whispered. She looked at me sharply then, and the look on her face made me cringe.  
  
“I tried,” she said in a very hard voice. “You weren’t exactly paying attention.” She was right, of course, and I shouldn’t have even asked the question, but I was trying so hard to find someone to share the blame of the whole horrible situation, so that it wouldn’t all fall to me.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I felt smaller then than I think I ever have.  
  
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she said in a clipped voice.  
  
“Yes, you are,” I said softly, staring at my hands. “I should have listened to you.” I took a deep breath then – admitting I’m wrong is not my strong suit – and said, “But I’m listening now.” I took it as an encouraging sign that when she met my eyes that time, she was guarded and somewhat wary, but no longer angry with me. “What do I do now?” I asked her.  
  
“Break up with him,” she said immediately, earnestly. “End this, Lavender. Now.”  
  
With a heavy heart, I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said with great regret, and then, “I _can’t_ ,” again, speaking over her protests. “Parvati, if I end things now . . . all I’ve done is hurt Hermione,” I said, looking away, trying not to remember the endless nights I’d endured lately. “You haven’t heard her,” I said softly. “I can’t let that be how this ends. _He_ has to break up with _me_. He has to openly admit that I’m not what he wants. That’s the only way to make right what I’ve wrecked. That’s the only way there’s any hope for them at all, after this.”  
  
And I met Parvati’s eyes, and I willed her to understand. After a long silence, she sighed and looked away, saying, “How long are you going to call him Ronnie?” I breathed again. I had her back on my side.  
  
“Until I think of something worse,” I said.  
  
Together that night, Parvati and I accomplished what I by myself had failed to do. Looking at the carefully drawn up plan of action we made for Operation Break-Up all together like that was more than a little daunting, but I committed to it wholeheartedly, because really, it was my only hope.  
  
“You have to promise me something,” she said, late that night, when we were finally ready to head to bed. When she knew she had my full attention, she continued. “You have to promise me that if things go badly, and for some reason, none of this works, you _will_ end it yourself.”  
  
I made the promise. I didn’t want to believe it could possibly come to that, but I made the promise because, as I’ve already stated, I didn’t have any other choice. Also, I knew Parvati was right. I was in quite the humbled state that night, and normally I’d feel very uncomfortable admitting that, but so much has happened since then . . . the guilt and the admissions are no longer so embarrassing as they once were.  
  
Things got easier after I had Parvati. I won’t go right to saying that they became _easy_ , but they did get _easier_ , more manageable, and far less overwhelming. Parvati’s the one who met me in Diagon Alley the day after break started to help me find “the most disgusting, revolting, sickeningly sentimental Christmas present that we can!” Parvati’s the one who talked to me by Floo every night over Christmas holiday, walking me painstakingly through the stages of our plan to help me work out any kinks. In short, Parvati’s the one who kept me sane. Thanks to her, I had a plan, and I knew how to execute it.  
  
I dropped my first “Won-Won” just after New Year’s, flinging myself at Ron with an intensity that would, in some circumstances, likely be termed an attack. This was Phase One. Cling and Squeal. It was my task to bring a whole new level of meaning to the term “clingy.” The idea was to slowly force him away by clinging to him tighter than ever. Smother him with affection to the point of potential suffocation, that sort of thing. And I was pleased to see it working – for all that I all but Spellotaped myself to the guy’s side that first day, he escaped fairly quickly. Of course, I refused to get my hopes up too high, but it was, at the very least, a start.


	2. Chapter 2

It was February when Seamus found out. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Not Seamus, necessarily, but _someone_. The Law of Averages and all that. It also didn’t help that Parvati and I were both extremely frustrated. Cling and Squeal had been in operation for more than a month, with very little to show for it, and an extremely unfortunate side effect was beginning to become clear to me. I had been acting shallow and giggly and silly for so long that people were beginning to treat me as if I _was_ , legitimately, all those things. More and more people were starting to look at me the way Hermione did, with revulsion and disgust and irritation. That scared me a little, because I knew that once I’d lost the respect of my peers, it was _not_ going to be an easy thing to get it back. Not to mention the fact that acting so shallow and giggly and silly was beginning to also get to _me_.  
  
So, yes. Parvati and I were both frustrated, and we weren’t as careful during one of our break periods as we should have been, and Seamus came into the otherwise deserted Common Room just in time to overhear me say, “I mean it, Parvati. I am _this close_ to clocking him over the head with something! He’s driving me mad! If he doesn’t break up with me soon, I don’t know what I might do, because I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to be this sickeningly head over heels for the guy!”  
  
Then I turned in my pacing and came face to face with a smiling and quite dangerous looking Seamus Finnigan.  
  
“Hello, ladies,” he said, crossing his arms, his brogue thicker than usual, which was never a good sign. I could feel the blood drain from my face.  
  
“Seamus,” I said weakly, knowing that this would be a very excellent time for me to say something. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to say. “What are you doing here?” I finally asked, settling for small talk, hoping to distract him, and knowing it wasn’t going to work.  
  
Well,” he said smoothly, never losing that smile. “I suppose I’m waiting to hear from one of you two fine ladies why I shouldn’t take what I’ve just heard up to my dormmate, as I’m sure he’d find it very interesting.”  
  
“Seamus, please don’t,” I pleaded. “I can explain this.”  
  
“I’m listening,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice for the first time.  
  
So Parvati and I did the only thing we could – we told him everything. I’ve always considered Seamus a friend – he did take me to the Yule Ball fourth year, strictly as friends, of course, and we’ve always gotten on well – but I knew that he was a true Gryffindor and, especially after the events of our fifth year, his loyalty to his dormmates was absolute. He _would_ have told Ron what he’d heard, and _that_ would have been a disaster far worse than anything I’d experienced so far that year. No, letting another person in on the secret was far better than the alternative.  
  
I had no idea how he’d take the information. Even after we’d told him, I had no idea. He just sat there after we had finished speaking, watching me. I can’t remember the last time I was under such intense scrutiny. It grew decidedly uncomfortable very quickly.  
  
“Please, Seamus,” I finally whispered, pleading again. “Please don’t say anything to him. I have to see this through to the end.”  
  
“Seems to me that telling Ron about what I’ve just heard would be a fair way to encourage a break up.”  
  
“And completely humiliate Ron at the same time,” I said immediately. “If he finds out about this, he’ll never fix things with Hermione because he’ll be too afraid he’d just be playing into someone’s hands. This has to be his idea, Seamus, or it won’t work.”  
  
There was a long, heavy pause then, during which I’m fairly sure neither Parvati nor myself took a single breath. Then, finally, Seamus spoke. “All right,” he said. I glanced at Parvati, somewhat wary.  
  
“All right?” I repeated.  
  
“I’ll keep your secret,” he clarified. I was halfway through a breath of relief when he said sharply, “But for their sake. Not yours.”  
  
“As it should be,” I said softly, looking away.  
  
As it turned out, Seamus did far more than simply keep my secret. He became a confidant. He became a partner in the scheme. And he lent a new and interesting perspective to the plan, as well. Not only could he keep us apprized of what Ron was saying in the privacy of his own dorm, he could also share insights into the male mind, and tell us what parts of the plan probably wouldn’t work as well as we hoped.  
  
I don’t think I need to mention that up to this point, my relationship with Ron had been almost entirely physical. I mean, aside from the occasional “Won-Won” and the like, we never really _talked_. That changed with Phase Two.  
  
I began to chatter. Incessantly. And the topic I most often brought up was _feelings_. I talked about where I thought the relationship was going and where he thought the relationship was going. I was in no way deterred when he had no answers, nor when he tried to steer the conversation in a different direction or, occasionally, halt it altogether with more kissing. No, I kept stubbornly on track, determined to wear him down to the breaking point.  
  
And it was working. I know it was. He began to avoid me more and more often, or kiss me so hard I couldn’t get a word in. I’d like to take this time to point out that _something_ had at least been accomplished in four months. His kisses were completely unrecognizable from the ones I’d gotten in October. They occasionally took _my_ breath away, and I wasn’t even attracted to the guy.  
  
But the point is, I was wearing him down, slowly but surely, and everything was setting itself up perfectly for the third phase. As March grew ever closer, I became more and more grateful for Parvati and Seamus. We didn’t have a lot of time to be alone together, but we had three free periods a week together by ourselves, and I lived for those hours. They were the only times I could drop the persona that was starting to wear away at me as well. It was such a blessing to be able to sit every once and a while and talk about nothing at all. To have those few hours when I didn’t have to think about Ron. We still did, many times, talk of the plan and how it was going, but the point was, we didn’t have to.  
  
I remember in particular one afternoon break a few days before Ron’s birthday, when Seamus, Parvati, and I were in the deserted Common Room, and we did happen to be talking about Ron and Hermione. Parvati had just mentioned that things would never have gotten this far if Ron and Hermione had been the kind of couple that you could just count on to work out, the kind you didn’t have to worry about. “Yeah,” I said. “This would all have been so much easier if they were more like Harry and Ginny.”  
  
Parvati and Seamus both froze and stared at me. I looked back and forth between them, legitimately surprised at their shock. “Oh, come on,” I said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”  
  
“Noticed what?” Parvati asked. “Harry and Ginny? There’s nothing to notice! She had a raging crush on him two years ago, but she dated Michael Corner all last year and Dean Thomas all this year. She’s moved on.”  
  
I gave her a very withering stare. I could not believe that my best friend could be so terribly blind. “Parvati,” I said. “I sit here as living proof that just because two people are dating does not mean that they are necessarily attracted to one another. The fact that she’s going out with someone else does not mean she doesn’t still have feelings for Harry.”  
  
The silence from my right became very tense at that, and I suddenly realized what Seamus must have heard. “She’s not leading Dean on,” I said, quickly and gently. “She legitimately believes herself attracted to him. She started dating Michael last year to try and convince everyone that she was over Harry, and she did it so well that she almost believes it herself now. But subconsciously, she knows she isn’t, and that’s why she and Dean are already starting to fall apart; she feels guilty, but on a deep enough level that she’s not even fully aware of it yet.”  
  
I could practically hear them trying to regroup. “Okay,” Parvati got out finally. “So maybe Ginny still has feelings for Harry, but so do half the witches in the wizarding world! That doesn’t mean Harry reciprocates!”  
  
“No, but he does,” I said with confidence, for I’d been watching Harry, and the signs were there if you knew what you were looking for.  
  
“No,” Seamus said immediately. “Lavender, I’m sorry, but I live with the guy, and I can say for certain that Harry doesn’t have feelings for Ginny. He’s never shown anything like –”  
  
“Seamus,” I cut in. “You’re never with Harry unless he’s with Ron or you’re with Dean, and do you really think he’s going to let anything like that show in front of Ginny’s brother or boyfriend? You don’t see it, but believe me, it’s there. And it’s become very distracting for him recently,” I said thoughtfully. By this time, Parvati was shaking her head in bewildered wonder and Seamus was peering at me intently.  
  
“I don’t believe it,” he said finally.  
  
“You don’t have to,” I told him. “Just take my word for it. Harry and Ginny are going to happen, and unless I’m very much mistaken, they’re going to happen soon. And it’s going to happen when emotions are running high and excitement is off the charts. They’re going to come together without thinking, and instinct will take over and that will be the end of that. I’d stake money on it.”  
  
Parvati refused to take the bet, not because she believed me, but just because, as she said, I’d been right about too many crazy things for her to go against me. Seamus, however, took the bet. If they did get together at any point, he owed me five Galleons. If they got together before the year’s end, he owed me ten Galleons. And if they got together before the year’s end and exactly as I’d described, he owed me fifteen. And if nothing happened by year’s end, I’d give him fifteen Galleons.  
  
Silly boy.  
  
But back to what’s relevant, I mention this story simply because it’s one of the last relaxed conversations I remember having that year. Everything changed three days later because three days later, Ron was poisoned.  
  
Before Ron was poisoned, the war was something that happened to other people. I mean yes, Cedric Diggory had been killed, and a bunch of Gryffindors and Harry had had some kind of adventure at the Ministry of Magic, but none of that had really directly affected _me_. I hadn’t _known_ Cedric, and none of the Ministry bunch had been lastingly hurt, and it wasn’t as if anyone _talked_ about any of that, not really. The war didn’t happen to me, and the war didn’t happen to people I knew, except for Harry, and come on. He was Harry Potter; he was automatically an exception.  
  
But when I heard that Ron had been poisoned, all of that changed. The war was thrown sharply and cruelly into my face, and I couldn’t really ignore it anymore. That was one of the worst days of my life. Because it didn’t matter that I hadn’t slipped him the love potion or poisoned the mead, and it didn’t matter that I was in no way responsible for anything that happened to him. It was still my fault. Go ahead, call it irrational. It’s nothing I don’t already know. It was completely irrational for me to blame myself over what happened to Ron. But I did it anyway.  
  
I’d like to take a moment here and clarify something important. I’ve kind of ragged on Ron a lot over the course of this narrative, and I may have given the impression that I was, at best, apathetic toward the guy. That’s not true at all, not in the slightest. I care about Ron a lot; I still do. I want him to be happy; he _deserves_ to be happy, for all that he had somehow come to believe that he didn’t. At some point in his life, it had been drilled into him – unintentionally, without a doubt – that he would probably always have to settle for things, and that’s one of the reasons we went out as long as we did. And that’s one of the things that was so _frustrating_ – he deserved _better_ than me, but he didn’t _realize_ it! I wanted him to realize it. I wanted him to realize that he deserved the best, that he deserved someone who _wanted_ him, and that he didn’t have to settle.  
  
Ron’s an incredible person – I thought so then, and I still think so. He is _fiercely_ loyal, and that was one of the other reasons he wouldn’t break up with me. As much as he didn’t much like me, as much as he was in love with someone else, and as much as he wanted our relationship to be over, he viewed breaking up with me, at least in part, as a sign of disloyalty to me, and he wasn’t willing to do it. And as frustrating as that was, it was also one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me.  
  
It takes a special kind of person to be able to live Ron Weasley’s life. It takes a special kind of person to be able to live in a household with five older brothers and a younger sister where, even though you’re never asked to measure up, you’re _constantly_ being asked to measure up. It takes a special kind of person to be best friends with the Boy Who Lived and the brightest student Hogwarts may have ever seen. It takes a special kind of person to live with all of that and not only feel that ridiculously stubborn loyalty for _all_ of them, but also to hardly ever give in to the jealously that should be a natural human reaction.  
  
Ron and I may not have spent much of our time together talking or getting to know one another, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t grow to care for him, or that I didn’t come to know him far better, I’m sure, than he would ever imagine. It’s one of my biggest regrets that Ron and I didn’t get to become friends. I think he needs more friends who genuinely believe in what he himself can do, friends who see him as more than the twins’ younger brother or Harry Potter’s best friend.  
  
I genuinely care about him, and the night that he was poisoned, I left Gryffindor Tower, after curfew, made my way down to the Hospital Wing, performed a Freezing Charm on the wards, put a Silencing Charm around his bed curtains, and told him everything. I admitted everything to him that night, everything I’d done, every mistake I’d made, everything that was wrong in his life at that moment that was my fault. I told him all of it, came clean, and didn’t hold anything back.  
  
Of course, he was unconscious at the time, and so didn’t hear a word I said, but that didn’t matter. I _told_ him. I sat next to him and held his hand and, crying, admitted the whole of what I’d done.  
  
One of the worst parts about it was that no one had thought to tell me what had happened to Ron. I found out from _Parvati_ ; _she_ had known before I did. I’ll admit, I would hardly have expected to be the first person notified; hell, with a family as large as his, I wouldn’t have even expect to be the sixth or seventh. But I do have to say, I would have expected to find out before the rest of Gryffindor Tower, from Harry or from Ginny or from _someone_ who thought of me as Ron’s girlfriend who should know what had happened to him. But I found out from Parvati, after making an offhand comment about the weirdness of being brushed off that morning in favor of _Romilda Vane_. That’s how I learned that my boyfriend had almost died.  
  
It struck me in that moment just how frightening a situation I was in. What I had been so terrified would happen had happened. My peers no longer had any respect for me, and as far as they were concerned, my relationship with Ron was already over. And as I sat by Ron’s bed that night, I really did become frightened that I was never going to recover from that year. And so I sat, his hand in mine, and begged him to end things, begged him to just get it over with and break up with me, for both our sakes. I begged him to follow his heart and forget about my feelings or about hurting me. I begged, and I could only hope that, somehow, he’d hear me.  
  
And when I left, just before the sky started to show pink around the edges, I pressed one kiss to Ron’s lips, vastly different from any I’d ever given him. For the first time in our four and a half month old relationship, I kissed him tenderly, chastely, with real emotion.  
  
I don’t know whether he heard me that night or not, but I do know that as soon as he regained consciousness, he began to avoid me, at least, as much as it’s possible to do with one of us confined to a hospital bed – he began to be “asleep” whenever I stopped by. And though he never knew it and probably never will, I left each of those visits hiding a smile.  
  
I also think I truly got on Harry’s last nerve during that time. Deprived of Ron to chatter at, I began to chatter at Harry instead, asking him about Ron’s “feelings.” In-depth. Excessively. Every chance I got. I really should write him an apology someday. I ambushed and abused him, and normally I’d say such behavior was beneath me, but at the time, I was desperate.  
  
Harry must have said something to Ron after that, because once he got out of the Hospital Wing, he began paying more attention to me, but it was grudging and I could tell. He made it quite clear that he’d rather have been with Harry and Hermione – with whom he had made up over the course of his illness. I allowed myself hope.  
  
His ever-clearer preferences enabled me to begin Phase Three, which was the hardest yet for me. I became possessive. I made him account for every moment of his day that he didn’t spend with me. If he spent any time at all with any other female, he heard it from me. For almost three weeks, I became the kind of girl I had always sworn I never would. As I never gave him a moment’s peace, he found more and more excuses to be away from me. It had been weeks since we had snogged, we hardly spent any time together, and the times we were together, I nagged and pouted the whole time, and _still_ he hung on! _Still_ he refused to be the one to end it.  
  
And then came the night when he came down from the boys’ dorm with Hermione Granger. Alone.  
  
There was no other way I could have reacted. None. Not after what I’d spent the last month setting up. Not after they came down the stairs directly in my line of vision. Not after Ron had _never_ taken me up to his room.  
  
I wish I could say that what happened that night was a blur. I wish I could say I barely remember any of it. But I’ve sworn to be truthful, and the truth is, I remember that night far too well. I remember everything that was said and, more importantly maybe, everything that wasn’t.  
  
When I shrieked “What were you doing up there with her?” he did not say, _Discussing the best way to tell you that we’re together now._   
  
When I said “Do you realize what this looks like?” he did not say, _I know exactly what it looks like, and that isn’t far from the truth._   
  
When I said, “I’m supposed to be your girlfriend; I’m supposed to be the one you spend time with privately,” he did not say, _You aren’t my girlfriend anymore, Lavender. We’re done._  
  
When I said, “I know exactly what this is. You think I haven’t noticed? You think I haven’t seen how distant you’ve been? So, tell me. How long have you been spending time alone with her? I think I have a right to know!” he didn't say, _You don’t have a right to anything of the sort._  
  
When I said, “What does she have that I don’t? What on earth makes that stuck-up, prissy little know-it-all bookworm more worth your time than me?” he did not say, _Don’t you dare talk about Hermione that way. She is ten times better than you can ever hope to be, and if you ever say one more thing against her, you will regret it for a very long time._  
  
And when I said, “Well, I won’t stand for this, Ron Weasley. I won’t be made a fool of, not by the likes of you! It’s her, or me, so make your choice. It should be obvious,” he did _not_ say, _I choose her. Can you imagine any scenario where I would choose you over her? Even when I chose you, I was really choosing her. I choose her, and you and I are done, Lavender. For good._ He didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. He just . . . _stood_ there, not looking at me, and not saying _anything_.  
  
“I’m done with this,” I said in one of the most dangerous tones that I think has ever come out of me. Ron looked up at that, and so did Hermione, and the reason for it was simple. In that moment, I wasn’t the Lavender they thought they knew. The reason for that is simple, too. In the last few moments of that break-up, I finally, _finally_ , dropped the act. “Yeah. Yeah, Ron Weasley, you hear me? I am _done_. With this and with you. After everything I have done, after everything that has happened, how you can _still_ just _sit_ there and not make what should be the most obvious choice of your life when it is shoved in your _face_ is completely beyond me!”  
  
On some level, I was aware that we were in a crowded Common Room that had just gone completely silent, that about thirty or so people were currently listening to every word I was saying. On some level, I was aware of it. It just wasn’t on any sort of level that had any control. I’d kept it in for too long; it kinda had to come out.  
  
“When you’re asked to choose between one of the most important people in your life and someone who has only ever hurt you, you don’t sit there like a lump!” I screamed. “You make your bloody choice! For Merlin’s sake! This should be one of the easiest things you’ve ever done!”  
  
He didn’t look at me once through all that. And I stood there, breathing hard, glaring at him in disgust, and dealt the final blow. “Yeah, you sit there, Ron. And you know what? You can have your bloody life back. I don’t want to be part of it anymore. I cannot _believe_ I spent so much of my time, my energy, my _life_ , caring about such a monumental _idiot_!”  
  
And I stormed up the girls’ staircase, to disappear into and wreck my dorm room in such a blazing rage like I’ve never experienced before. _That’s_ the part of the night I can’t really remember clearly. I just know that when Parvati came up, she found me sitting on the floor at the edge of my bed, in the midst of what had once been bedcurtains, sobbing harder than I can ever remember sobbing, out of – god, anger and anguish and frustration and hurt and a million and a half other things I don’t even come close to having words for. And failure. Overwhelmingly, failure. I had failed. I had _failed_. Myself and my plan and Hermione and most of all Ron. Everything I’d been trying to do, everything I’d hoped to accomplish . . . all just shattered into a million pieces right in front of me.  
  
And when Parvati came in, she didn’t say a thing about what had just happened or about the state of the room. She didn’t try to make me feel better. She simply came over, sat next to me, and put her arms around me. I don’t know how long exactly we sat like that; it was not quite long enough for me to cry myself sick, but that was only because of what happened next.  
  
There was a knock at the door. Under normal circumstances, my mind would have been whirling, making lists of all the possible people who could have knocked, figuring out game plans for how I would deal with each of the different possibilities, that sort of thing. But in this instance, I was too numb and miserable to care about any of that.  
  
With a light pressure on my arm, Parvati stood and crossed to the door, opening it just wide enough to communicate. I couldn’t see who stood on the threshold, but I didn’t even care, not really.  
  
“What do you want?” Parvati asked whoever it was.  
  
“Please, I just want to talk to her,” came the reply in a voice I knew well and should have anticipated.  
  
“No,” was Parvati’s immediate response.  
  
“Parvati –”  
  
“What good do you expect it to do, Hermione? What could you possibly have to tell her that she’d want to hear?” In some inner recess of my mind, I felt a faint surge of gratitude for Parvati.  
  
“I want to explain! It’s not what she thinks,” was Hermione’s forceful answer. Parvati shifted slightly and waited. “I – we weren’t up there alone. Harry was with us, he just – didn’t come down at the same time. Nothing happened.”  
  
“Then why couldn’t Ron have told her that himself? She gave him plenty of opportunities.”  
  
“Please let me talk to her.” In any other situation, I would have smiled at Hermione’s not-so-obvious attempts to avoid the question.  
  
“No,” Parvati said again. “She’s resting.”  
  
“Will you tell her at least?” Hermione asked, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice.  
  
“Why is this so important? Am I supposed to believe you suddenly care about Lavender?”  
  
“Look,” Hermione said then, and I could tell she’d lost patience with the whole thing. “This isn’t about who I care about or don’t care about; this is about correcting misconceptions. And nothing happened between me and Ron. I don’t want anyone thinking that Ron is disloyal or unfaithful. It didn’t mean anything. And if you could pass along that message, I’d appreciate it.”  
  
The door closed and I heard footsteps echoing away down the staircase, but apart from noticing those things, I showed no sign I’d taken in anything that had just happened. Until, that is, Parvati came back, hesitantly. Watching her shins approach – because that’s all of her that was in my line of vision – I suddenly couldn’t stay in that room anymore. Hermione’s words were echoing unbearably in my head, and I had to get out.  
  
“Lav–” Parvati tried to say, but I had already pushed myself up from the floor.  
  
“It didn’t even mean anything,” I said as I pushed past her, out the door.  
  
Where Hermione had gone down, I went up. It was rare that anyone ever went up in the tower higher than their dorm, but I went up. I went past the seventh year dorms and the first and the second until I reached the top of the tower, where the staircase ended in a trap door. And I pushed the trap door open and went up on the top of the Gryffindor parapet. I stood up there, letting the still-fierce April night air whip my hair around my face and dry the lingering tears on my cheeks. I braced my hands against the rough stone and leaned over and just tried not to think at all.


	3. Chapter 3

I stayed that way for the next few days – not thinking, that is, lest you think I spent the next week on top of Gryffindor tower. I didn’t. But I did spend the majority of those days saying nothing to no one. It wasn’t hard to keep up the necessary act; whenever I saw Ron or Hermione, I burst into tears all over again, tears that were only half faked. But they stemmed from guilt and regret as opposed to heartache or any kind of viciousness.  
  
Nothing roused me from that numb stupor, that constantly flowing cycle of self-pity and self-loathing. Nothing the professors said in class penetrated the haze, nothing that Parvati or Seamus told me made it through, not even the superb gossip that flew through the halls that week got me to do more than blink a couple times (and it was pretty superb. Ginny broke up with Dean, albeit in a far less public and loud way than Ron and I, Harry attacked Draco Malfoy in a bathroom and nearly killed him, and more importantly, he essentially got himself banned from Quidditch for the rest of the year for it. Normally, I’d have had trouble getting the words out fast enough. But this time, I didn’t even try to get the words out at all).  
  
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m sure I was just waiting for Parvati and Seamus to do something, wondering how long they’d let my moping go on, and that Saturday, I got my answer. Everyone else and their brother was at the final Quidditch game of the year – Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, and no Harry Potter. I was not there.  
  
I was sitting on a sofa in the corner of the deserted Common Room, continuing to feel miserable. I thought I was completely alone, but that was before two large, human shaped things came and sat down in a way that can only be described as firmly on either side of me. I knew it was Parvati and Seamus, but I didn’t look up.  
  
“Lavender, you’ve gotta snap out of this,” Parvati said forcefully.  
  
“Why?” I asked, not even bothering to pretend like I didn’t know what she was talking about.  
  
“Because you’re making yourself miserable!” she said. I looked at her then.  
  
“I spent most of the year making them miserable, Parvati. Don’t you think it’s my turn?”  
  
“The world doesn’t work like that,” Seamus said from my other side.  
  
“Well, maybe it should,” was my sullen response.  
  
“You can’t keep punishing yourself for this,” Parvati said.  
  
“You want to watch me?” I muttered, staring straight ahead.  
  
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ve been watching for the past week, and quite frankly, it’s gotten old.” I didn’t even have the energy to glare at her for that remark. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Lavender!” she exclaimed then, exasperated. “Stop sitting over here crying ‘it’s all my fault’! If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been something else, and you know it! This is Ron and Hermione.”  
  
“Who spent most of the year not talking because of me,” I shot back.  
  
“Yeah, because they’ve never done that before,” Seamus muttered, his voice thick with sarcasm. Him I _did_ glare at.  
  
“It wasn’t my fault before,” I snapped.  
  
“And no one’s denying that it was your fault this time, though Parvati’s got a point,” he said. “But I don’t see you doing much to fix it.”  
  
“Fix it!” I exclaimed. “I was trying to fix it before, Seamus. That’s how I got myself into this mess!” He jumped on that.  
  
“Yourself?” he said immediately. “And here I thought you said this moping was for the sake of Ron and Hermione.”  
  
“Leave me alone,” I muttered pathetically, trying to disappear back into the couch. I really didn’t want Seamus and Parvati to come along and start making logical, valid points.  
  
“That’s the best you can do?” he asked harshly. His words stung, and I looked up and away, trying to ignore the sting of tears threatening behind my eyes yet again. “What’s this really about, Lavender?” he asked, softer, and that did me in.  
  
“I just –” I said as the first tear slid down my cheek. “It didn’t mean anything,” I whispered. “I look at what I tried to do in relation to everything else, and it’s so stupid! I just hurt people, and I didn’t help anyone at all, and I just feel so stupid and foolish and — silly. And I look around, and everything’s just a reminder of how — incredibly superficial everything I’ve done has been.”  
  
He didn’t say anything to that; he just put an arm around my shoulders and held me to his shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Parvati’s hand slipped into mine, and I honestly don’t know what I ever did to have those two in that moment.  
  
“Don’t count your dragons, Lavender,” Parvati said softly. “You can’t know what might come from what you’ve done.”  
  
“Misery,” I said bitterly. “I’m never meddling in anyone’s life ever again.”  
  
“I hope that’s not true,” she said softly. “Lavender, when all’s said and done, you probably understand people better than maybe anyone else in this castle. It’s a gift, and you have to use it. You can’t just give all that up over this. This time? This thing? It was Ron and Hermione, who delight in confounding expectations, for whatever reason.” I looked at her then, and she smiled. “I think they’d find a way to trick even the best Seer in the world.”  
  
Seamus looked like he was about to add something, but his words were cut off abruptly by a loud, uproarious cacophony coming from the corridor outside the tower. And then, in the next moment, the cacophonous mob was in the tower, spilling into every corner, writhing, cheering, halfway holding seven scarlet and gold clad figures aloft, all screaming and shouting so loudly over one another that absolutely nothing intelligible could be deciphered. But it didn’t matter. What had happened was clear, even without the large silver Cup Ron was waving over his head.  
  
“Hm,” Parvati said, watching the chaos. “Wonder how the match turned out.” And, for the first time in five days, I laughed. With a quick squeeze of my hand, Seamus stood and bounded over to Dean, who, as far as I could tell, began reliving the whole game, play by play, the fact that they had managed to win without Harry overcoming the fact that Seamus hadn’t been there. I watched the pair of them for a moment, and then at all the celebrating happening around me and I couldn’t help but smile, just the slightest bit. “You okay now?” Parvati asked softly.  
  
“I just . . . I feel so guilty,” I said softly, my eyes now resting on Ron and Hermione. “For everything I put them through this year. For caring so much about this when I should have been caring about so many more important things.” In silence, we watched as Ron, still clutching the silver Cup in one hand, grabbed at Hermione’s hand with the other, talking excitedly while she laughed and playfully tried to pull away. But she no sooner escaped than he caught her in a fierce and joyful hug from behind. She blushed at his enthusiasm, and didn’t pull away.  
  
“They seem to have gotten over it,” Parvati said, following my gaze. “So don’t you think it’s time you did, too, Lav?” I sighed.  
  
“I don’t think it’s that easy,” I said, looking down at my hands.  
  
“Why not?” she asked. “Why do you have to punish yourself over this?” I didn’t have a good answer for her, and she knew it. I was in the middle of trying to formulate one when the portrait swung open again as Harry stepped inside, and then it wouldn’t have mattered if I came up with an answer or not because the Tower exploded again as everyone tried to tell Harry how the match had ended. And then, before anyone even had time to realize what was happening, Harry and Ginny had met in the middle of the room somehow, and Harry was kissing her.  
  
I sat straight up as the room grew eerily quiet, my hand blindly reaching for Parvati’s. “Wow,” she said softly in my ear, gripping my hand as Harry quietly pulled Ginny from the tower and the room broke into excited, stunned whispers. “If only there was someone who had seen that coming, had predicted that such a thing might happen. If only there was someone who understood people that well.” I pursed my lips, but my heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t stop smiling at the memory of the look that had been on both faces when they’d pulled apart. “You made a mistake, Lavender. It’s time to stop acting like you’re the only one who ever has.”  
  
All I said in response was, “Go tell Seamus he owes me fifteen Galleons.”  
  
I bounced back after that, but I still felt guilty over everything that had happened. Nothing alleviated that, not even seeing the subtle but weighty changes in Ron and Hermione’s friendship. I spent the weeks til the end of term cursing the fact that it was too soon to admit what I’d done, but fully planning to tell all as soon as it was safe to do so. Over the summer, perhaps. Or at the start of next year.  
  
But then Professor Dumbledore was killed, and everything changed for the worst.  
  
I don’t want to dwell on the hell that was my seventh year. It has little to no real bearing on this story, as neither Ron nor Hermione were around for it. I knew Hermione wouldn’t be, knew it as soon as Snape was named Headmaster and Professor Burbage went missing. And it suddenly became all the more imperative to put differences behind us, and so I resolved to tell Ron everything at the start of term. I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, but I was prepared to go through with it. But then Ron didn’t come back either. And though Ginny told us all that he was sick with spattergroit and quarantined at their home, her hollow, dutiful voice and the gleam in her eye told us the volumes that she couldn’t. Paired with the fact that Harry also did not return, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that wherever the three of them were, they were together.  
  
That year was hell, and before it was even a few hours old, I knew I had far more to worry about this year than a few romantic relationships. We all spent the year struggling for survival and worrying constantly about those conspicuously absent from our lives.  
  
I also don’t want to dwell on the final battle. For one thing, it too has little bearing on my story, especially seeing as how I lasted all of twenty minutes, then woke up three days later with no idea what had happened or who had won beyond understanding that, if I was waking up in Mungo’s, there was a good chance we hadn’t completely lost. For another thing, I have no doubt that anyone listening to my story already knows full well what happened, both to me and overall. I have no desire to relive the experience, and I’m sure you have no desire to experience it vicariously.  
  
Yes, I was attacked by the untransformed werewolf Fenrir Greyback, and yes, I am exceedingly lucky to be alive. I owe the fact that I did not die to Hermione, who hexed the beast off of me, and Seamus, who actually found me and kept me alive. I owe the fact that I _survived_ to Parvati, Seamus, and Bill Weasley. And yes, that is a story that should be told and should be heard, but it is not this story, and so I will leave it for another time.  
  
Werewolf bites, even from an untransformed werewolf, cannot be Healed with a simple wave of a wand and some potions. My recovery was long and slow and more painful in many ways than the actual attack had been. What you really need to know is that there were days in that hospital room when I wished I had died, when I _wanted_ to die.  The only things that kept me going those days were Seamus and Parvati and the brilliant Mungo’s staff, who refused to give up on me or let me give up on myself, even on the worst days, when I cursed Seamus for saving me and refused to let him near my bedside.  
  
I spent a lot of time in my own head in those days of my recovery. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, really, and even though someone was with me almost every moment of the day, talking with them took too much energy, energy I didn’t have to spare. Exhaustion and pain constantly numbed my being, and there were far too many days when verbal communication was simply beyond my capacity, days when I was simply too exhausted and aching to do more than let a few tears leak down my cheeks to soak into the bandages that thickly covered my neck.  
  
And here I said I wouldn’t dwell. The point is, all that I could do with any regularity was think and hurt, and I did an awful lot of both, but I tried to concentrate mostly on the first. I spent a week and a half simply coming to terms with everything in my life, all the regrets that I still held, finding the more silly and superficial among them and finally, _finally_ letting them be part of the past. But the one I could not put behind me was what I had done to Ron and Hermione. Even though the three of us had moved so far beyond all that, even though I knew it ranked right up there among the silly and superficial, I hadn’t explained, and I still needed to, for whatever reason you’d like to attach to it.  
  
Then came a hard day maybe two and a half weeks after the battle. Parvati was the one who came in near its end, came straight from working to rebuild Hogwarts and sat by my bed and took my hand, after a brief, whispered conversation with Seamus.  
  
“I have news that might make this day a little better for you,” she said softly.  
  
“Tell me,” I whispered, not having energy to spare for more coherent or polite demands.  
  
“I came across Ron and Hermione today,” she said, and though my eyes were closed, I could hear the smile in her voice. “In rather an intimate embrace. Which suggests that whatever damage you may have done to their relationship, it has been, if not forgotten, then forgiven and repaired.” I summoned the last of my strength and squeezed her hand, letting out a shaky sigh of relief and a couple involuntary tears. “I have also heard a rumor,” she went on, “that it happened in the middle of the battle itself. I can’t say how true the claim is, but word is, she launched herself at him.”  
  
It startled a laugh out of me, that news. And, much to my surprise, the laugh felt . . . pretty good. “I want to see her,” I croaked out. Parvati was instantly alert; I could feel it.  
  
“Lav—”  
  
“I have to, ‘Vati. Please.” Through great effort, I opened my eyes. “Please,” I said again. And whether she understood or was just humoring me, she agreed to pass along the request. I was hoping for more of a “I will drag her to your bedside” response, but I took what I could get. And two days later, she walked into my room.  
  
Seamus was with me when she arrived. She caught us in the middle of a gentle, hushed conversation that would have been embarrassing, had living through the last year not made experiencing normal adolescent embarrassment a little beneath us (I know I didn’t mention any of this earlier, and so hearing of it now might seem a bit abrupt. But the truth is, sometimes life is like that. It doesn’t always make good storytelling. Seamus and I, well . . . one day I just woke up in Mungo’s and looked at him sitting by my bed, and realized I was in love with him. And that was that. So yes. Abrupt. But it was pretty abrupt in real life, too, at least for me. If you ask Seamus, he'll tell you that he'd been in love with me for years, and I'd just managed to miss all the signs. Talk about irony).  
  
When she walked in, nervous and hesitant, Seamus stood, kissed me gently, and said, “I’ll leave you to your conversation. But holler if you need anything.”  
  
“I don’t think I’ll be doing a whole lot of hollering any time soon, but I’ll let you know,” I said with a tired smile. He squeezed my hands and then stood straight, nodded to Hermione, and left. Awkwardly, Hermione stood at the foot of my bed for a moment after he’d gone.  
  
“You and Seamus, huh?” she finally said.  
  
“You and Ron,” I turned back on her. She blushed furiously and didn’t make eye contact with me.  
  
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said defensively. “I don’t know why you asked me to come, and to be honest, I’m not sure why I did, except —”  
  
“Hermione,” I said, cutting her off. “I asked you to come so that I could explain. Please, sit down.” Hesitantly, she did. And then the time had come. I had thought it would be hard, and maybe, before the battle, it would have been. But at that point, I was so tired, both literally in terms of body and mentally in terms of the situation. It should have been done with long before, and the time had come to truly end things. It had been put off far too long. And so I simply told her.  
  
“I know you don’t think highly of me,” is how I started. “Which I understand completely. You have no reason to think highly of me, and every reason to think poorly of me. And what I’m about to tell you probably won’t change that, and may just make you hate me more. But if you’re going to, I’d like it to be for the right reasons. And I’d like to have thoroughly earned it. The truth is, I’m not – what you think I am. I’m worse.”  
  
And then I told her everything. I told her everything I’d told Ron when he’d been unconscious in the Hospital Wing. I told her everything that had happened since. I told her _everything_. It was exhausting, and the only way for me to get through it was to simply lie in the bed, eyes closed, and say it as straightforward as possible. I couldn’t afford to be embarrassed. I didn’t have the energy to spare.  
  
And when I finished, I continued to just lie there, breathing hard and waiting for the blow to fall. Every second that passed without bringing a response from Hermione made me even more worried. I had to forcibly remind myself that nothing she could say or do could be worse than what I had already been through.  
  
“Why would you do that?” she finally asked, and in her closed, guarded tone, I heard all the censure and anger I’d been afraid would be there, and not looking at her wasn’t enough. I turned my head away, tears leaking out onto the pillow.  
  
“I just . . . I was trying to help,” I said softly. “I know that sounds awful, but it’s the truth. I was just trying to help. I just wanted to make something better.”  
  
“No,” I heard her say softly, with a little laugh that’s the kind of laugh people give when they don’t know what else to do. “I meant . . . why would you do that . . . for _me_?”  
  
I turned my face back to her so quickly that the half-healed wounds on my neck screamed in protest. “What?” I asked dumbly. She looked down in embarrassed frustration, clearly trying to find better words.  
  
“I’ve never treated you — we’ve never —” She sighed in frustration and sagged in the chair. “Why would you do that for me?” she whispered.  
  
“Because . . . you deserve to be happy as much as anyone else,” I said, slightly bewildered by her reaction. I swear, if I’d had any doubts that she and Ron belonged together, that would have dissolved them. I swear to Merlin, I have never met their match for people thinking they don’t deserve the same level of happiness that everyone else does! “And if you never treated me with . . . it’s not like I ever acted in a way to deserve it, you know. I’m just sorry for the mess I made of everything. I tried to help, and instead I just ruined everything. I spent the last year trying to find an opportunity to apologize. I understand if you hate me –”  
  
“I don’t,” she said immediately. Then, “How much was you?”  
  
“What do you mean?” She looked at me then.  
  
“All those years. How much was you, and how much was just an act?”  
  
“I — I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “I’ve spent a lot of time the past year trying to answer that. I guess I’ll let you know once I’ve figured it out for myself.”  
  
Then Hermione did something I had honestly never expected. She smiled. She smiled and said, “I look forward to it.”  
  
There was a slightly awkward pause then, until I said, “Thank you. For hexing Greyback off me.”  
  
To my continued surprise, she flushed angrily and growled, “Least I could do to that monster. I only wish I’d been able to finish him off,” and it occurred to me then that I really had no idea what she’d been through that year, but I would have bet my mother’s wedding ring that she’d had a run-in with Greyback at some point, and come away from it far better than I had.  
  
It wasn’t long after that that she left, to let me “get some rest,” as she said, but she went away far differently than she’d come in. Something had changed, finally been settled, to my state of mind, and nothing illustrated this more than what she said just before she left the room.  
  
“Lavender?” she said. “Just so you know . . . I think – I think you did more good than you’re aware of. You should take more credit. I don’t think we would have – gotten this far without you. I owe you.” I shook my head in wonder.  
  
“You really don’t,” I said with a smile. “But there is something you can do for me.”  
  
“Name it,” she said simply.  
  
“Invite me to the wedding.” She colored instantly and began stammering as I knew she would. “Hermione,” was all I had to say, with a pointed look, and she shut up immediately, though her color remained high. “Invite me to the wedding.”  
  
“I may make you a bridesmaid,” she said.  
  
“No,” I said quickly. “No, I don’t want that attention. Just – make sure I get an invitation.” She nodded and turned to leave again, but this time I called her back. “Hermione,” I said, exhaustion suddenly washing over me. “There is one thing I’ll take credit for.” She looked at me, expectantly. “When he kisses you, does it make your knees weak?” A blush was her only answer. I sank back into my pillows, eyes shut, a satisfied smile on my face. “That was me,” I said, even as I began to drift off to sleep. “Trust me. You wouldn’t have wanted the first version.”  
  
Just before I fell asleep for real, I heard two very softly spoken words that I’m not sure I was meant to hear, just before the lights flicked out and my door shut. “Thank you.”  
  
There is a Muggle author whom I know nothing about beyond his name and a single quote. His name is Sir Walter Scott, and the quote is this:  
  
“Oh what a tangled web we weave  
  
When first we practice to deceive.”  
  
I can vouch from personal experience that this is true. But to it, I would add a second set of lines:  
  
But if we’d only sit and wait,  
  
Each tangled web would work out straight.  
  
Ron and Hermione were married yesterday, and, as promised, I received an invitation. I did not, however, sit in the seat they had reserved for me, right at the front. No, Seamus and I arrived just before the ceremony began, on purpose, and slid unobtrusively into the back row of chairs. And as I sat there and watched these two so obviously in love individuals be married together, a thought occurred to me, a thought that should have probably occurred long before yesterday, but somehow didn’t.  
  
Maybe Ron and Hermione knew what they were doing the whole time. Not in the conscious sense of knowing, of course, but at some level. The deeply buried part of themselves that recognized the other for what it was maybe also recognized that until Harry had done what Harry needed to do, nothing could be brought into the open between them. And so that part would be what worked so valiantly to keep them apart until it _could_ be brought into the open. And if that were true, even so talented a matchmaker as myself would stand little chance against it. Tangled webs, indeed.  
  
For a brief, frantic moment, I wanted to share my revelation with somebody – anybody. But then the moment passed, and I was able to sit and enjoy the ceremony, filled, as I’m sure everyone else was, with that feeling of finally resolved _rightness_.  
  
I left shortly after the ceremony was over, staying only long enough to slip my card into the pile already dozens strong, then I made a quiet and graceful exit because there was no need for me to stay. I’d done what I’d done in secret, and I saw its culmination that way, too. When she sees my card, Hermione will know I was there.  
  
In the end, it wasn’t even a real card that I gave her. It was just a photograph, in an envelope, addressed to Hermione and only Hermione because I have no idea what she’s told Ron. I left that up to her.  
  
Just after the winter holidays of my sixth year, Colin Creevey gave me a photo he’d taken by accident and had no use for. At the time, it showed a relatively empty stretch of Common Room. At one edge of the picture stood me and Ron, his arms around me, smiling indulgently while I kissed his nose. But soon after we broke up, the picture shifted. I hadn’t noticed until I’d been packing for seventh year.  
  
Here’s something you should know about wizard photographs. They have some flexibility of movement, obviously, but they can’t change to show anything that wasn’t there the moment the photo was snapped. Here’s why I told you that. Because while, in that photo, I am still wrapped in Ron’s arms, the pose is more subdued, and Ron’s attention is very obviously not on me. Instead, he is looking past me, toward a shadowy corner along the photograph’s other side, where a bushy head of hair is just barely visible above a huge pile of books. And the look on his face is one of unrestrained longing, laced with pain and self-loathing. It’s a heartbreaking photo, really, and I often wonder if Colin didn’t know exactly what he was giving me.  
  
And now I’ve given it to Hermione. I debated a long time over what to include with the photo, but in the end, I just wrote a two words on the back, and really, there was no message more fitting.  
  
 _You’re welcome. LB_ _  
  
 _Fin__


End file.
